


just a small thing

by friar



Category: Tales of Hearts, Tales of Legendia
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, Tumblr Rec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 05:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friar/pseuds/friar
Summary: Maybe it's just a small thing, but I think it's from small things like this that we form bonds with each other.A collection of Tales requests and drabbles.





	1. Needle and Thread

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a place to compile previous and future Tales drabbles. Some of these are requests from tumblr, some are just for fun! Pairings and fandoms will be added when needed. If you have any requests, feel free to send me a message with the characters you'd like and a few words of prompt.
> 
> This first one is re-uploaded. A request from tumblr.  
> Game: Tales of Legendia  
> Pairings: Chloe/Shirley  
> Pre-relationship, future fic.

A needle was, in essence, just a tiny little sword. Both were silver, shaped long and ending with a dangerous point. So, following this logic, Chloe could not comprehend how she was so bad at sewing.

The dress ended balled up in her furious hands and flung halfway across Will’s living room.

So much for progress! So long, all those hours she’d spent trying to make these silly pieces of silky fabric resemble anything worth wearing! She huffed, buried her face in her hands, and tried to calm down.

Focus was everything. In battle, focus could save your life. You had to be determined enough to move forward and persevere even in the face of defeat. Guilt crept all over her and made her shudder. She’d never given up on something this important before. She’d be damned if she gave up now.

But for the love of all that was holy, sewing was terrible and the very concept should be outlawed!

By the time she’d lowered her hands and decided to move instead of mope, someone else had joined her. She stared. Shirley stared, but her clear blue eyes were looking at the failure of a dress. Her eyes darted up to Chloe, and she seemed to read the situation in an instant.

In the few years that they’d known each other, Chloe had found endless frustration over how her friend was so incredibly feminine. While on the other hand, Chloe herself was… decidedly not. Did this make her less of a woman? It was a question she’d asked herself many times before, because damn, Shirley’s hands were so much softer than hers, her hair so much shinier, and her lips so pink and delicate…

Anyways, looks aside, Shirley could also bake. And sew! Not to mention crochet and knit, and she had beautiful penmanship, and getting back to appearances her wrists were incredibly dainty, and she always smelled like wildflowers, and, and…

These things just built up, over time. So now Chloe sat, watched as Shirley picked up her awful creation, crossed the room to her, and sat down beside her on the sofa. The distance between them had closed so much over the span of three years. Now, when Shirley sat down, their legs brushed together. Chloe didn’t notice, of course. She was too mortified.

Shirley turned the dress over in her (thin, smooth) hands. Her eyes traced every stitch. Finally she lay it down in her lap and turned it so the problem area was laid bare for them both to see. “You’re trying a blind stitch here, right?”

“Um,” Chloe said, very aware that she had no clue.

And then Shirley’s hands were on hers, taking the needle and re-threading it. “Here, I’ll show you. It’s easy once you get the hang of it.” 

Chloe watched, breathless, as the hem was sewn right up and finished. She nodded. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. How did you do that?” She watched as Shirley undid the thread and repeated the process, realization dawning on her and making her eyes widen. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s a beautiful choice in print. Who is it for?”

Heat erupted all over Chloe’s chest, and she tried to keep it from spreading to her face. “Oh, well, you know. It’s for… me?”

Shirley shook her head, her braided hair shaking too. “No, it’s too small for you. You also have a much bigger chest than this bodice allows for.” She seemed to not notice the frenzy this statement caused in Chloe’s head, because she continued on, frowning. “In fact, this dress is for someone shorter than you too… and…” A sly smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “Is this a gift?”

Damn it all. Chloe occupied herself with brushing off the fabric, because had it gotten dirty when she threw it? No? Better safe than sorry. “Your… birthday is a month away, but I figured I should get a head-start.” She realized she was mumbling and cleared her throat. “What with my… learning curve, and all.”

The sound Shirley made was sweet as honey. She clasped her hands together with Chloe’s fingers (her rough fingers, her untrimmed nails, her total contrast with everything Shirley showing through all the more). Chloe tried to keep calm. “It was supposed to be a surprise! And it was supposed to look a lot better than this, I swear, I just don’t understand how to make it look good enough for you-”

“C, I think it’s beautiful! But you know what I’d really like for my birthday…?” She batted her eyes. “I’d love to spend some time making this dress with you, teaching you all the stitches, and how to hem and put on backing and…”

Despite feeling frustrated, despite feeling flustered, Chloe laughed. Shirley just had that effect on her, the power to melt away any rainy day. “Alright. If you insist. Let’s make this work, together.”


	2. Thank You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game: Tales of Hearts  
> Pairings: Hisui/Richea  
> a fic request for richea @ tumblr

They were sitting off the path of long-rambling mountain road. Birds chirping, sun bright and hot even through the wispy layers of her dress. Further down in the shadows of the trees, the rest of her companions were stirring up bees and pollen in their hunt for ripe blackberries. Even Ines and Gall had forsaken the lunch spread to join in. But when Kohaku had rushed up breathless, inviting her to join as well, she had shook her head and settled down under the shade of a low-bent oak tree.

It was an idyllic day. A peaceful footnote in their journey - not important, but perfect.

It didn't belong to her.

Richia folded her hands atop her lap stared down hard at them. In the distance Shing and Beryl started laughing. In all her days she’d never had companions such as these - innocent, joyful. She wondered what was so amusing, and in a moment was almost up to see… but, no. The quiet suited her, the crisp breeze, the moments of reflection. It had been some time since she’d felt so alone… and she was used to it. Just her and her… thoughts. Just thinking. 

Just worrying. Shame, fear, doubt, and suddenly the air seemed colder.

Then a shadow fell across her and she blinked up. Hisui leaned against the tree, smiling down. “Mind if I stay with you? Those two are getting out of control.” 

“It sounds like it.” She chuckled. “You’re welcome to sit with me, yes.” But as he settled in beside her the familiar weight of his presence pressed down on her heart, made her gaze fall back to her hands. Had she ever truly apologized to him? For Kohaku, for everything she had introduced into his life. A quick mental check yielded no results. Maybe he thought her rude for this oversight? Maybe she had already made apologies and simply forgot? How foolish of her! To treat such a necessary interaction as forgettable...

“Hey, uh… I was wondering if I…” Hisui rubbed the back of his neck and set his sights up towards the branches. “This is going to sound stupid. Maybe I already said all this and just… forgot.”

Richea took a deep breath. “You don’t need to say anything… it is I who must speak.”

“No, really, I haven’t taken the time to…”

“Hisui… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

But as her words were spoken his were too, and somehow his overcame her own half-whispering, and all she heard was the warmth in his voice. 

“Richea... thank you.” Then he flushed red and waved his hands. “Oh! Sorry! You go first.”

She realized her mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it. This was preposterous. Why in the world would he be…? “Th-thank you?” She managed.

A good few moments ticked by as they stared at each other. Finally Hisui cleared his throat. “Well, yeah.You’ve always been there for Kohaku. I don’t think she’d be the girl she is today without your influence. And for that… I’m just really grateful that you’re around, you know?”

No, she didn’t know. But how to tell him this…? How to make him understand that she was indebted to Kohaku, was at the mercy of any anger or frustration he may feel, that he should blame and hate her, that she shouldn’t be here in the midst of this light and joy…

Or, maybe, apologizes weren’t needed.

And maybe that was, for now, acceptable.

Either way, she smiled up at him and for the first time, knew the smile he returned was genuine. “Hisui… You’re welcome.”


	3. Quiet/Raging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game: Tales of Legendia  
> Pairings: Past Stella/Senel
> 
> a quick character study about overcoming grief (or not)

The night air is cold and crisp and prickles against Senel’s skin. Promises of future rain and the ever-present, inescapable scent of the sea lace it, sending chills down his spine and making the hair on his arms stand on end.

It reminds him of that fact that, mere day’s journey away, and he could go visit it. Glinting back at his folly with the cold ego of something immovable and eternal, challenging him, wanting to swallow him up.

He’d always felt that way about the ocean. It was a terrifying thing.

It was a part of everything he loved now, and he had to accept that.

Standing in front of Stella’s grave brought these thoughts in so hard and fast that his head whirled. Shirley had been by to eat dinner with him, and then he’d met Jay on the road out of town and gotten an ear of “news” - gossip moreso, now that peace was upon them. Then finally, almost to the graveyard, Norma had passed him on the street and stopped to idly chat. Everything he’d taken in stride. Pleasantries with those he held dear, a slice of normal, safe life. It wasn’t as though he didn’t enjoy it. But it was hard knowing you were enjoying anything when she was lying under earth, full of dirt, deep deep down.

Stella had been like the ocean. When they’d first met he was scared of her, and with good reason. Aloof, beautiful, proud. Always proper, but with him sly and laughing. Always pious, but with him kissing and hand holding and secret looks. There was something unsettling caught in between those two sides of her. Duality. The push and pull of a steady tide.

She had been perfect. Now she was dead. The ocean remained.

Senel could feel traces of it, ebbing and flowing in against his being. It felt bitter, this faint sea-air. So he said a prayer to her and rubbed his arms, then turned to head back into town. 

A shadow caught his eye and he jumped, startled, looking around for something to fight. It was his shadow on the ground. Just a reflection in the grass. Disappointed, he made his way back to his room. 

\---

That night he dreams that he’s standing face-to-face with himself. A different him, to be sure, one made of shifting water and stormy in the heart of it. He thinks to reach out and confirm the illusion with touch, to see if it would disappear into a shower of foam. Before he can, the shadow beckons to him. He takes a step forward.

It’s been hard to stop fighting. Making his hands into fists was what he knew best, after all. He looks at his shadow and thinks, it wants to fight me, and I want to fight it. Like the spectral minion of Schwartz. Like all the enemies I’ve fought before. 

But he’s tired. There’s no more reason to fight. The world - saved. Stella - dead. Nothing could change either fact. With a shrug he turns his back and walks the other way. There is no reason to go back there, no more reason to hide. He has friends now. They love him. Shirley is safe and there’s no more work to be done.

Still... he looks over his shoulder. The man he was, built of tension and terror, holds up a hand. Caution, a signal to not invest too deeply, because really, peace is flighty and so are human lives. He lifts a hand to wave back. There’s no reason to ignore it – it’s as much him as his current self. He is built on a foundation of every fear before. But he takes extreme satisfaction in how little he feels tempted.

\---

He wakes that morning at a leisurely pace. Despite his refusal against the shadow, nothing’s changed. A little victory in a dream means nothing in the face of another day. So he showers. He gets dressed. Shirley and Chloe stop by for breakfast. Noontime comes around and he goes fishing with Moses and Will. With their catch they cook a great dinner and, Harriet’s portion of the cooking excluded, it’s good food. Good company. A night of camaraderie and happiness.

Before bed Senel goes up to the graveyard to pray. The shadow haunts him. Things repeat. Every time joy comes to him it’s tinged with the sliver of a moonlit sea.

The night is dark and crisp and the morning is bright and full of sunlight. His family is there. Stella is not.

The ocean remains, unchanging.


	4. Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game: Tales of Legendia  
> Pairings: None  
> Prompt: "Fenimore, Last"
> 
> A very short fic request for sweet-suzume on tumblr.

When she and Thyra were five years old, their mother sat them down and told them a story.

All her life she’d hated Orerines. It was a feeling deep down in her gut, and as dark and tumultuous as it made her feel to think about it, there was nothing wrong with this feeling. No one had taught it to her - had they? She’d heard fragments, really, pieces of complaints and curses and insults. All the adults talked this way, so it was true. It wasn’t something to learn, per se, as it was a natural instinct. Ferines were not safe in this world, and the fault for that lay in the Orerines hands alone. And that was that. 

But this was the first time she’d heard the story.

What started out as a fairy tale quickly wove into history and fact, until her mother finished and the air seemed heavy in its solemn silence. She didn’t want to speak, didn’t trust her words to say anything meaningful against the weight of the sad state of their existence. 

Thyra crossed her arms. “What jerks!” To which her mother chastised her language, and Thyra fled squealing.

Fenimore stayed behind, sitting crossed-legged on the carpet, thinking. That night she dreamed of the story and it came to life for her, an epic played out like real life. When morning came she felt so sullen that she stayed home and watched the other children playing through her window.

She half expected Thyra to come bursting in, to be tapping her foot, impatient, wanting to break her from her gloom. Or her mother to come run a hand along her golden hair, whisper encouragement, that “all was right and all will be right in time”. The Merines will return. The Orerines will fall.

But why it wasn’t happening now infuriated her. Now her people suffered. Now they hid and struggled to survive. It frustrated her to the point of tears, and being such a strong willed girl, it was the first time her heart had been broken.

But it would not be the last.


End file.
